Chapter 31: Detective Blake

HAYLEY

“Police!” the voice repeated, and as Hayley slowly got up from the tiled bathroom floor, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her corset and shorts had blood on them, so she put on the dressing gown that was on the back of the door, pulled the shower curtain across the bathtub, and stayed silent.

The banging came again, harder and louder.

“Hayley Albina Tate! Open the door, it’s the police!”

She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard—her Russian middle name! A name nobody apart from Siobhan was supposed to know about.

“I have sources, and I know you’re in there. Open. This. Door.” He punctuated his words with three loud bangs.

She knew she had no choice, so she answered the door to find a man around Luca’s age standing in front of her.

“I’m Detective Adam Blake, Ms. Tate, and I’m here to talk to you about an incident that happened about thirty minutes ago.”

Her eyes went wide in horror. How did they trace her so fast?

“Look, we can do this here or at the station.”

The idea of being in a police cell made her dizzy, so she nodded and let him in.

“How do you know my name?” Hayley croaked. She had to pretend she was innocent, but she was here with illegal documents and passports.

“I know a ~lot~ about you, Ms. Tate, or should I say ~Ms. Collins~.” He flashed a slanted, wicked smile and casually took a seat on the couch. She felt like she was going to be sick again.

He opened the file he was holding and handed her a photograph. “Do you know this man?”

Her heart skipped a beat when she looked at it.

The man in the photo was smoking a cigarette outside of a car, and Hayley recognized every inch of him—his muscular body, his perfect face, his dark eyes that glowed a warm chocolate brown when the sun caught them.

She took a deep breath, then looked at the detective and handed him back the picture.

“No,” she said simply, but her heart was racing. ~Always~ lie, ~never~ let them know you know anything or anyone.

He sucked in some air before handing Hayley another picture. “Are you sure?”

When Hayley took the second picture, her stomach dropped. This time he wasn’t alone. She was beside him in her 1920s gown, and his hand was on her waist.

“Lying won’t help you, Hayley,” the detective said coldly.

She looked up from the photo.

“You see, we’ve been following the Marcello family for years now.”

She had to act bold—tough and not afraid. “I thought you were here about an ~incident~.” She thrust the picture back toward him.

He smiled as he took it and carefully placed it back into the file. “Oh yes.” He laughed once. “The incident. You have been a very, very naughty girl.”

Her body was shaking. Was she going to prison tonight?

“~Murder~.” He stretched the word out in a way that made her skin crawl. “A serious crime. So, in fact, is entering the country on fraudulent visas and passports.”

Hayley wanted to scream and cry, wanted to break down. This wasn’t her! She wasn’t a criminal—she wasn’t supposed to be this girl.

“You can deny it all you want, but we have a witness and will soon have DNA evidence.”

She was doomed. Hayley could feel the tears begging to fall.

“However, I’m not that interested in the murder of a Marcello member.”

So this was all about her passports. “I can’t—”

“I know you can’t go back home. I know.” His manner was similar to Luca’s—cold, calm, and domineering. Even with him sitting down, she felt pretty small and powerless compared to the detective.

He put the file on the couch, leaned forward, and clasped his hands together, placing them on his knees.

“I’m not interested in your visas either. I’m the lead investigator of organized crime, particularly the Italian American Mafia.

“My aim is to take down the crime families of New York, like the Borronis and the Marcellos, and you can help me. You see, I need information. I need someone who can get inside Luca Marcello’s head.”

Her heart was beating so fast. She knew she shouldn’t be talking to him, particularly about Luca. She shook her head.

He sighed. “Fine. But if you refuse to help me, Hayley”—his tone hardened and his eyes darkened—“then I will have to arrest you for murder. And then pass your file along to my friend.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You see, my friend has your missing person file, all the way from Russia. He deals with foreign runaways.”

Oh God. This was all ~real~. The detective on her couch knew she had murdered someone. He knew she was here on fake IDs. And he knew she was running from her family.

She frantically considered all the angles. She couldn’t go back to Russia; her dad had been so angry when she rejected the forced marriage. What would he do to her if he found her?

She also didn’t want to go to prison.

But Luca… She thought of his lips on hers, his intense gaze. Yes, a part of her hated him—she’d walked away from him after all. But betraying him? She couldn’t bring herself to do that.

“Then…” When Hayley sighed, the detective stood up. “You’d better arrest me for murder.”

If she betrayed Luca, he would kill her, and if he went to jail, he would assign someone else to do it. But if she went to Russia, who knew what would happen?

“I don’t think you understand, Hayley,” Detective Blake said, shaking his head as he approached her.

Hayley took a hesitant step back.

“If you help us, the murder charges will be dropped. And I promise you I ~will~ protect you.”

He vowed protection? Did he know how big the Marcello family was?

“I can’t—”

“You’re willing to risk prison and being at your father’s mercy for a man who is screwing another woman as we speak?”

She felt his words like a punch to the gut. But he just laughed and shook his head.

“Did you think you were special? I have an informant in his family already, Hayley, and it seems the don is preoccupied with another whore.”

Hayley felt her heart shatter. She knew she wasn’t special to Luca—he’d told her this countless times. Unfortunately, he ~was~ special to her.

“If you help me,” Detective Blake pressed. “You’ll receive protection and your papers will all be legal. You can have a new ID, a real one.”

He could have promised her the earth, and her answer would be the same. She shook her head again, and he took a deep breath and nodded.

“He wouldn’t do this for you, Hayley. His world is all about himself and his loyal subjects.”

When he walked past her, he stopped when they were shoulder to shoulder and held out a little card. “I’m not arresting you tonight. You have twenty-four hours. Think about everything I’ve said and get back to me.

“If you don’t, or still refuse, I’ll have you deported back to Russia.”

She didn’t take the card, so he placed it on the coffee table.

“Oh, and Hayley?”

She didn’t move.

“Don’t think about running. I’m putting you under twenty-four-hour surveillance. And I know all about your plan to leave for Paris—that is ~not~ an option anymore.”

She heard his footsteps on the wood floor, and when the door closed behind him, she fell to her knees, shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down her face.

She ~had~ to tell Luca—she needed him to help her. And he had to know that a cop had tried to get her to become an informant ~and~ that he had an informant already in his family.

Hayley took her phone and rang him again. He answered on the third ring.

“What!” He sounded furious and breathless.

“Luca, I—” she began, but like the detective, he cut her off.

“Look, Hayley,” he said fiercely. “I’m a little busy here.” He groaned, then she heard a woman’s voice speak in Italian—it was definitely Arianna.

“Non ho finito con te, Sr. Marcello!”

She felt sick. The detective had been telling the truth—he ~was~ busy with another girl, one who was blonde and beautiful and obviously spoke Italian better than Hayley ever could.

“Ti ho detto di stare tranquilli!” he snapped. Hayley didn’t understand the words, but she recognized the sharp tone.

“Look, Hayley. I’m not in the mood for you tonight. I’m busy. I’m going to be busy all night.”

She nodded as if he could see her. He’d been trying to tell her, but she finally believed it. She was nothing to him.

“Yeah,” Hayley said bitterly. “I can tell you’re busy.” She hung up on him, something no one ever did to Mr. Luca Marcello.

She had no reason to be hurt—Luca was never hers—but he could have at least given her a minute to tell him what she knew before he went back to fucking Arianna.

Hayley felt sick as she thought of his hands on Arianna’s body, his lips kissing hers. Were they in his bed? She picked herself up off the ground and moved to sit on the couch.

The file was still there, so she picked it up and looked through the images of Luca. He was always outside, either smoking, on the phone, or talking to Frankie or Nic.

But there was one inside the club. His hand was on the waist of a familiar blonde-haired beauty.

She threw the file on the coffee table and put her head in her hands. He would never be hers, and she couldn’t be his.

Luca was a Mafia leader. He killed people, tortured them, and engaged in illegal activities she couldn’t even begin to imagine. She’d even heard he shot one of his family members in the head for not following a command.

He was dangerous and was willing to kill anyone who got in his way.

Hayley wasn’t like him. She’d killed only in self-defense. Yes, she’d entered America illegally, but only because she was hiding from her dad.

She picked up the card and looked at the name and number.

She felt sick at the idea of calling the detective. But what loyalty had Luca shown her? When she needed him, he rejected her calls, and then when he did answer, he told her he was too busy fucking someone else to talk.

What loyalty did she owe him? She dialed the number and put the phone up to her ear.

“Detective Blake,” he answered.

She knew this would hurt Luca, and deep down she knew it would hurt her too. But she had no choice. She had nothing here.

“I’ll meet you.”